A Sliver of Redemption

11

H e’d spent almost two days weaving his way through the alleys and secret spots of Veldaren, but at last Deathmask was certain Haern had lost his trail. Under cover of night he slipped through the broken window, then snapped his fingers to summon a purple fire about his hand. He looked down at Veliana’s body and frowned.

“You slit her throat,” he said to the absent Haern. “Now why did you have to do that?”

Her eyes were still closed, her flesh pale and still. He put a hand against her face, the purple fire cold and giving no heat, only light. Carefully he looked her over.

“You seem no worse for wear,” Deathmask whispered to her. “Though you’re really not going to like feeling those maggots that I’m sure a few flies laid.”

He set down his pack of supplies and rummaged through them. The cut on her neck worried him, and complicated an already delicate task. It hadn’t bled, and the flesh had turned an ugly yellow where the wound had failed to seal. From his pack he found a small spool of thread and a single needle.

“You’re going to have one nasty scar,” he told her. “Hopefully you’ll forgive me for that, too. Sewing is not one of my better skills.”

Stitch by stitch he closed her throat, until it looked like she wore a grim necklace. After that he moved on to the stab Haern had given her, stitching it shut. That done, he stripped her naked and took out a bottle of alcohol from his pouch. He splashed it across her body, then began scrubbing. Anywhere she had a cut or opening he checked for bugs, eggs, and any other such vermin that was fond of the dead. He found plenty, but knew despite his diligence, he’d still miss some. Veliana was going to be so pissed…

“Cross your fingers,” he told her, then grinned at his own bad joke. With a single word he removed the spell he’d cast two days prior. Her heart resumed its pumping. Her blood unfroze. Her lungs gasped in a long, painful breath. As she emerged from her stasis, her mouth opened in a single scream that lacked the force to express the delirium and pain she surely felt.

“Easy,” he said, holding her in his arms as she shivered and thrashed wildly. “Don’t scream. Don’t talk. Haern cut your throat to make sure you were dead.”

Her fingernails dug into his skin as she clutched him. Blood seeped from numerous cuts and bites, and he winced knowing they had to sting like a hornet because of the alcohol. Her jaw and hands trembled as her body endured wave after wave of jolts and shivers.

“If there’s anywhere that hurts, point,” he told her. “I need to make sure nothing is in you and…alive.”

He carefully tilted her chin so she’d look up at him. Her good eye looked into his, and then pooled with tears. She nodded in understanding, then pointed toward her side. Taking out his knife, Deathmask knelt close and forced down any squeamish sensations. If Veliana was to endure, he had to be quick, thorough, and calm.

“This’ll hurt,” he said before slicing into her skin. A moment later he pulled out a thin white worm. He burned it with a spell before Veliana could see it. “Where else?”

She touched her ankle. Deathmask saw the bite, which had begun seeping puss once her body resumed its normal functions. Doing his best to ignore her choked cries, he pried it open. At first he saw nothing, but as the blood pooled he saw a ripple from squirming. The tiny grub died on the tip of his dagger.

One after another she pointed, he cut, and the intruder died. Dark blood seeped through the stitches and trickled down her neck, and any color slowly drained away from her face. Several times he thought she might vomit, but she never did. With every cut, he felt more and more proud.

“Any more?” he asked her after a very long pause. She bit her lip, then nodded. Her tears, which had dried up, started anew. With a trembling finger she pointed to her right ear.

“Inside?” he asked. She nodded. “Shit.”

He put his hand against her head and closed his eyes. He let his mind focus on the essence of life. The touch would be so gentle, so weak…there. With a few words of magic he focused in on it, a threat, a feasting intruder, and without warning he cast another spell. The bug burst into flame. Veliana screamed at the pain, her inner ear burning. Deathmask held her tight against him, wincing at her sobs, but he did not end the spell. He burned and burned until there was nothing left but the tiniest pile of ash. He tilted her head to the side, leaned down, and blew with a soft breath tinged with magic. Out came the ash, sparkling as it floated to the ground.

“It’s over,” he whispered, holding her naked body against him. “It’s all over. Your body needs to heal, and then it won’t hurt anymore. Hopefully Haern’s second cut didn’t cost you your voice, but it might take awhile before we find out.”

She whispered something, the sound wet and groaning.

“Yes, dear?” he asked, leaning closer.

“Bastard,” she whispered.

“Love you too,” he said, grinning. “And as enjoyable as this is, let’s get you dressed.”

Deathmask shook out her clothes, then helped her slide on the pants and shirt. Every movement hurt; he could tell by the winces she made and the little gasps that escaped her lips when he touched her. He talked to her the whole while, hoping the distraction would take her mind off the vast amount of aches and stings.

“I have a few people for you to meet,” he said. “It’s been two days since Haern, or whatever shell of Haern that was, attacked us. Since then, I’ve spent plenty of fun hours in undesirable locations I won’t bother boring you by listing. There was one advantage, however, and that was in finding others who felt a similar need to hide. I also killed a few of the Lionsguard. Can’t let them think the Ghost and his Blade are out of the game, can we? Anyway, it seems we’ve inspired some like-minded individuals. I’m sure you don’t feel up to lively discussion, but it’s with them we will be safest. Besides, there’s someone there who I think you will be very happy to see.”

Once dressed, he stepped back and surveyed her form. Her neck was yellow except for where the blood had stained it red. Her scarred eye was swollen shut, while her good eye still dripped tears. Every step she took, she winced, and it seemed she was unable to halt the tremble of her hands.

“Like a princess,” he said. “Let’s go, before daylight comes.”

D eathmask had no choice but to hurry along the streets. Veliana couldn’t skulk or leap across the rooftops, so instead he looked every which way before leading her by the hand. Silently he begged whatever gods might be that Haern remained on the other side of town. If there was anything he wasn’t prepared for, it was another duel with the undead assassin.

Twice he spotted a Lionsguard patrol approaching, but both times he led them into a side alley to avoid their torches. They steadily made their way south, away from the castle. They stopped once, for Veliana to catch her breath. With every rise and fall of her chest, she whimpered. Deathmask couldn’t wait until they arrived. He hated seeing her in so much pain.

“Almost there,” he told her. She looked up at him and mouthed the word ‘good’.

The streets were calm and empty, the result of the many patrols and the viciously enforced laws the priest-king had enacted. For once, Deathmask was thankful. The unsettling silence made it easy to hear any patrols coming. Deep in southern Mordeina, he turned them down a street, waited for a group of priests and soldiers to get far enough away, and then led the two of them to a large house of stained oak. He rapped his knuckles three times against the double doors, paused, then three more. The door cracked open.

“Come in,” said a gray-haired man.

The house had once been exquisitely furnished, but everywhere Deathmask looked he saw bright squares and circles where paintings and mirrors had once hung. The floor was bare, the long hallway empty.

“Follow me,” said the elderly man. “You took much longer than expected. We’d all begun to worry.”

Deathmask glanced back at Veliana and the stitch-grin on her neck.

“There were some complications,” he said.

“Things are never as easy as we hope.”

He led them through a parlor, past two bedrooms, and then down a set of stairs. Despite its lack of windows and thick stone walls, the deep cellar was well-lit by a floating ball of gold that shone like a miniature sun. Several men occupied the crowded space, kneeling on pillows or sitting on uncomfortable stools. Below the light, keeper of the spell, sat another elderly man wearing the white robes of Ashhur.

“Welcome back,” he said. “It is good to see my prayers for your safety answered.”

“Save your prayers for where they are useful,” said Deathmask. He took Veliana’s hand and pulled her to his side. “Veliana, meet Bernard Ulath, former high-priest of Ashhur.”

“The temple may have fallen,” Bernard said, a soft smile on his face. “But I am still a priest. Lay down, Veliana. I can see the pain all over your face, and I will do what I can.”

Veliana sank to her knees, then rolled onto her back. She closed her eyes as Bernard began to pray. His hands shone white, filling with healing power. Deathmask watched with his arms crossed. He didn’t share Bernard’s sense of faith. He was a practical man, after all. But the priest’s healing ability was superb, and his way with words and men skillful. For all of Deathmask’s killing and scaremongering, it had been Bernard who had kindled the first true resistance against Melorak’s rule.

“Did you encounter him while you were out?” asked one of the others in the room.

Deathmask switched his attention from Veliana to the man. He was a heavy nobleman, his face covered with a red beard. He tried to remember his name. Hocking, and first name with a K or a P…

“No, Hocking, I did not,” he said, deciding first names weren’t necessary.

“Thank Ashhur for that. A few of my men have seen him about, but he’s never attacked. It seems he’s got his eyes and swords for you only, though I fear what might happen if he succeeds.”

“Yes, I’d hate to find out,” Deathmask said, rolling his eyes. “Where are the others? I count five here, yet you promised at least ten.”

“It’s going to take time,” said another, a wiry man with dark eyes. “Once we prove our goal is achievable, the others will come.”

“Which means others now know of your involvement but have not yet committed to our cause,” Deathmask said. “A potentially dangerous mistake, milord…uh…”

“Dagan,” the wiry man said. “Dagan Gemcroft. You seem poor with names. Is killing all you are good at, Deathmask?”

“More than good. The best.”

“Would you like us to introduce ourselves, maybe write our names on our foreheads to help you remember?”

“Enough,” said Bernard, interrupting his prayers. “These times are difficult, but snapping at one another is childish. We have enough to begin our fight. That is all that matters. Now please, talk quieter so I might concentrate.”

“I have over two hundred house guards ready to kill at my command,” Hocking said, hitching his thumbs in his belt as if this number should impress him. Deathmask rolled his eyes.

“What else?” he asked.

“I have five-hundred mercenaries hired out from what’s left of Neldar,” Dagan said. “They’re pretty damn angry at what’s happened. They’ve cut their rates by half, just to get a shot at killing.”

“Mercenaries and house guards,” Deathmask said. “Such a grand army. Are they prepared to do dirty work? This won’t be an honorable battlefield, gentlemen. We’re going to fill the shadows with blood and fire.”

“You won’t burn our own property down, will you?” asked a man from the corner. He was tall but thin, giving him a stretched look that his wrinkled face only exacerbated.

“And you are?”

The man bowed.

“Lord John Ewes. I once owned half the great fields, until the priest-king took them from me at the edge of a sword.”

“And what, you fear we’ll burn your fields?”

“Damn right I do. That’s my sweat and blood growing out there. For a century my family has toiled the fields, hired workers, dug and cultivated. Stolen, all of them!”

“You’re yelling,” Deathmask said, a dark grin on his face. “And what does it matter? The fire will make next year’s harvest all the greater. As for this year…you have nothing. Better we give them ash to feed their armies than grain.”

John crossed his arms and leaned back into the corner.

“How far are you willing to go?” he asked the assassin.

Deathmask looked down at Veliana’s battered form, and he remembered his friends, the twins, who had died during Melorak’s victorious assault.

“As far as my life will take me,” he said. “You all must remember, we won’t be heroes. No one will remember our names. If we’re lucky, Antonil will show up, retake allegiance of the Mordan soldiers, and then crush this new priest-king dead. Until then, we starve them. We bleed them. We take their coin and bloody their noses. They’ve cowed the citizenry. We need to make them angry! Fire and hunger are our weapons now. And if any of you here aren’t willing to give up everything, and I mean everything, to free this city from Karak’s rule, then I suggest you leave right now and never let me see your face again, because the next time you see mine, it’ll be covered with ash.”

“We fight for our survival,” Bernard said, standing and helping Veliana to her feet. Already her skin looked healthier, and the shaking of her hands had finally stopped. “Deathmask, you yearn for the bloodshed and destruction, but we are not the same. You are right, but I ask that we ensure our victims are only those sworn to Karak. I will not aid you in slaughtering innocents.”

“There are no innocents in this war,” Deathmask nearly snarled.

“Maybe so,” Bernard said. His shoulders sagged, and he looked as if he bore a great burden. “But I still want you to try.”

“So be it.” Deathmask turned to Dagan. “Send your mercenaries to the Great Fields. They’re harvesting the grain to feed his army massing north of the city. Burn the fields to the ground.”

He shot a look at John, who sighed, then nodded.

“Burn everything,” the lord said. “And may Ashhur have mercy on us all.”

Deathmask laughed.

“Mercy,” he said. “I’ve fallen in the company of fools. John, I assume you were paid a pittance when your lands were stolen from you? Take it and start distributing it among the poor under the condition they buy food and only food.”

“What for?”

“When the fields burn, Melorak will need to obtain food from elsewhere. I want every spare loaf in the hands of Mordeina’s people. If we’re lucky, he’ll get desperate and try to take it from them. Either that, or he buys it back, otherwise his army starves. No matter his choice, we win.”

“You ask me to bankrupt myself,” said John.

“No heroes, remember?”

“Already you burn my fields, and now ask for all my wealth? You’re doing a better job destroying me than the priest-king.”

“Quit complaining,” Dagan said. “You think I haven’t spent every coin I have keeping the mercenaries?”

“I have nothing left,” Hocking said. “My house guards stay with me out of loyalty and a hope for revenge. At least you might one day retake your fields. Karak’s priests have my fortune.”

Lord Ewes threw up his hands in surrender. “So be it. This better work, rogue.”

“Night will soon be over,” Bernard said, ending the taut silence that had followed. “I will pray for your safety. Return to your homes. I will send a messenger for when we are to meet again. Go with Ashhur’s blessing.”

One by one the men left, until only Bernard, Deathmask, and Veliana remained in the cellar.

“You need to learn how to speak with subtlety and kindness,” Bernard said, sitting back down and leaning against the wall. He let out a grunt of displeasure as his back popped. “These men are scared and desperate. Every day Karak’s priests whisper in their ears, promising their wealth returned a hundredfold if they prove their loyalty and devotion.”

“This is no time for childish handholding,” Deathmask said. “We are at war, and they need to learn that.”

Veliana tapped him on the shoulder, then tilted her head back and made a drinking motion with her hand.

“Do you have any wine or water?” he asked Bernard.

“Up the stairs,” the priest said. “What few stores we have are in a cupboard to your left.”

Deathmask left and came back with a wineskin. Veliana guzzled it down, even though she winced and clearly fought against the pain in her throat.

“This is some rebellion,” Deathmask said, plopping down atop a stool. “Burning the fields will hurt them, but he won’t disband the army. Melorak’s been kind so far to the general populace, but I fear that will end soon enough. They’ll pillage and tax like never before. We’re about to make a lot of people unhappy on both sides. Are you sure your…fragile sensibilities will endure this? These are not times for grace and forgiveness, only blood and ash.”

Bernard closed his eyes, losing himself in his memories.

“When Karak’s army stormed the walls, my priests and I did our best to fend off the undead emerging through the tunnels. When the bulk of the army was trapped atop the walls, I sent my followers after them in hopes of freeing the soldiers so they might fight. Alone, I hurried to the queen, fearful of what her advisor, a priest of Karak named Hayden, might do. I arrived too late. Melorak and his priests were already there, singing Karak’s praises. My beloved queen was dead. They scattered her ashes across the steps. As for my brethren, Karak’s priests covered their heads with tar and put them atop spikes throughout the city.”

He opened his eyes and looked at Deathmask.

“I am ready to do whatever must be done. I can endure no worse a day than that, hiding like a coward while my friends were tortured and killed.”

Veliana knelt beside him, tapped her throat, then tapped his heart.

‘Thank you’ she mouthed.

“You will regain your voice in a few days,” he told her, trying to smile. “Until then, you may stay down here and rest. I have cast many protections, and if this Haern is undead, he will burst into flame should he take a single step into the cellar.”

They piled up pillows, and then Deathmask wrapped her in a blanket after she lay down. It wasn’t long until she slept, unable to fight off her exhaustion. He kissed her forehead, then headed for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Bernard asked.

“After today, I really need a drink.”

“Drinking’s illegal now. You know that right?”

Deathmask chuckled, then outright laughed.

“Then I’ll drink twice as much,” he said. “Fuck this priest-king and his laws. It’s time we showed him the world isn’t ready to roll over and die.”